


The Dragon of Winterfell

by Urrax



Series: Silver Haired and Indigo Eyed Jon Snow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cousin Incest, Dark Jon Snow, Dubious Consent, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Period-Typical Underage, R Plus L Equals J, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Sub Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urrax/pseuds/Urrax
Summary: In a universe where Jon is born with silver hair and indigo eyes. Where the realm knows that he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, born of the rape of Lyanna Stark.





	The Dragon of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> The dubious consent tag and the dark Jon Snow tag very much apply here. You have been warned.

**Jon Snow**

****

“Fuck Sansa.” Jon groaned. They lay in his bed. His silver-hair loose around his head, he as nude as his name day, she still clad in her sleepwear wear. Her auburn hair was tied in a loose braid while she bobbed on his cock greedily. Jon’s hips bucked involuntarily, and a gasp escaped his lips.

Those Tully blue eyes stared at him innocently, a sharp contrast to the string of saliva that connected his cock to her wet lips. “Is this good?”

Jon grabbed Sansa’s auburn locks and pulled his cousin back onto his cock. “Yes, Lady Stark, but you could always be better.” Sansa tried to pull of his cock to reply but Jon resisted the motion and fucked her face instead.  “Take it.” He growled.

Sansa mumbled a protest, but it was obscured by his thick length threatening to invade her throat. Slobber fell from Sansa’s mouth to coat her chin and drip around the silver curls at the base of Jon’s cock. His indigo eyes narrowed, and he pressed his hand against the back of her head. Sansa breathed deeply through her nose and Jon felt her throat relax as his cockhead slipped past its entrance. _I have trained her well._

“Gods your mouth is sinful.” Jon’s head fell back to the pillow and he relaxed his grip once he was sure Sansa would not pull away. He groaned once again as Sansa encased half his cock in his mouth while the other half was gripped tightly by his sister’s slick fist. “Who would have known my little sister would be such a good cock-sucker?” His mention of a closer than actual blood relation between them drew a fierce blush on her cheeks but the glide of her mouth did not stop. In fact, it grew more fevered.

Those blue eyes stared up at him filled with joy at his praise despite the vulgarity of his words. Lord Stark and his lady wife had done their best to establish as much of a distance as possible between their daughters and Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard son. _Lest I turn out like my father._ Jon thought with more than a touch of bitterness. Little Arya who was essentially a doppelganger of her aunt that his father had defiled and sired him upon had never been allowed to be alone with him. Arya was a she-wolf to the bone and rebelled against her parents’ orders as much as possible. But she was still too young for Jon’s attentions that her elder sister eagerly indulged in.

The lustfulness of dutiful and obedient Sansa would come as a surprise to her parents, but it had not been to Jon. He had seen the long looks she had given him even before she had flowered. His dragon’s blood was undeniable, and his unique looks that were the result had been both his blessing and his curse. To Sansa he was his ancestor, Prince Aemon come again. Jon did not know if she thought of herself as his Naerys but Jon had overheard her and Jeyne’s quiet whispers when they thought no one else was listening. According to them, there was no handsomer man in the North than he. Likely the Seven Kingdoms.

He patted her cheek and she turned her head to nuzzle his hand. His cock, still inside of her hot mouth indented the other cheek. “You’ll make a good wife Lady Stark. So pretty. So sweet. If I was your husband, I’d fill this mouth of yours with my seed every night. Would you like that?” Sansa was wordless with her agreement, but the lewd sounds of her slurps were enough. Her tongue lashed his cockhead and a dainty hand reached between his legs to cup his sack. _Just like I taught her._ Pride mixed with his pleasure.

He watched her blue eyes close and her hips rock into the bed. Sansa was truly a giver and Jon had witnessed firsthand her climax from having his cock in her mouth and the friction generated by her thighs rubbing together.

“Open your eyes Lady Stark.” He ordered. Suddenly possessive. This had all started because of his offhand comments of how she would not know how to please her princely betrothed. To his surprise, Sansa had not told her parents but instead came to him, hesitant, blushing and oh so eager to learn. Jon had delighted in feeling the results of her progress, but he would be damned if Sansa was thinking of her Stag Prince when she was servicing him.

The blue eyes cracked open, heavy lidded as if she had too much wine. Jon tugged an auburn lock and then he was buried in her throat. Try as she might, Sansa had never managed to take all of him. The sound of her swallowing and the feel of her soft hair in his hands was enough for him however. As was her enthusiasm. His hips bucked…once…twice and then on the third he was spilling. “Swallow.” His words weren’t needed. Sansa drank all he had to give her and then sucked him until she was sure his cock was completely cleaned of his seed.

As if she was laying her signature upon him, Sansa kissed the inside of his thighs and then flashed a lazy smile. He grabbed her arm and hauled her into his lap. “Jon.” She weakly protested when he balled the fabric of her sleepwear in his fist and moved to pull it over her head.

“I want to see you Lady Stark.” He wondered if she knew why he called her that. Sansa had inherited seemingly all her looks from her mother. Thick, long auburn hair that tumbled past her shoulders, vivid blue eyes and pale, unblemished skin. A year after her flowering, Sansa was coming into her womanly figure as well. Long legged, slender and full breasted with bright red nipples. Sansa was Lady Stark come again, though more beautiful than ever. The thrill of taking the prized daughter of the woman who so despised him had been too great to deny.

She hesitated and bit her lips sweetly. Jon pulled her closer and captured those lips with his. Sansa’s gasp as her core came in contact with his turgid length was enough for him to slip his tongue between those pink lips. His cousin responded eagerly, her own tongue surging to dance. There was the slightest after taste of his seed, but the rest was the sweet taste of Lord Stark’s daughter that he was steadily corrupting.

Perhaps he should have felt guilty. Sansa was only four and ten, and her head was filled with sweet songs. Naïve. An easy target for one such as him. But he had felt the stares directed his way and heard the same advice all his life. _You should feel grateful for your uncle’s kindness, bastard. He risked war with the king, his best friend, to save your life._ His uncle’s mercy was not out of love for Jon though. He was the son who looked too much like his rapist of a father. The grandson of the Mad King who had burned Jon’s Stark grandfather and uncle alive. Jon had learned early on that he only lived on the grace of his mother’s dying plea. Lord Eddard Stark was far too honorable to ever admit such but his words to Jon lacked the warmness for when the lord addressed his sons.

Sansa tilted her head, so he could kiss her neck. Her nails dug into his back. The pain he welcomed. His fingers traced her spine. Then her sides, feeling the subtle curve of her hips. Her skin was smooth all over. Undeniably feminine. He cupped her arse under her sleeping dress. The fabric of her smallclothes interrupted his feel of her bare skin. Sansa’s needy whine pierced the air when he nibbled on her neck. Jon knew then that he had her.

This time she did not protest when he lifted her dress above her head. Still, her arms crossed to obscure her breasts. Jon gripped her wrist gently and pulled them away from her chest. “Don’t hide from me.” His tone was too demanding, he softened his words. “You’re too beautiful to be shy.”

Jon Snow was not above lying but this time his words were truthful. She had always been a pretty girl and her transition into a beautiful woman was not unexpected. In another life, if Prince Rhaegar had not lost his life then perhaps they may have been wed to heal the pain between their two houses. _I am a fool to believe that. My uncle would have seceded the North rather than bend the knee to Rhaegar Targaryen._

Sansa moan was far too loud. He pulled away from a nipple. “Do I have to gag you or do you want your lady mother to find us?” She bit her lip and tried to remain quiet. Jon delighted in her struggle. He palmed her breasts, kissed the undersides and swirled his tongue around her bright red buds.

“Jon.” She squeaked. By her tone he knew she was close. Such was the delight in their play. Sansa was so sensitive, squirmy and could peak multiple times before he even made his way to her core. Jon held her as she peaked, swallowing her cries.

He rolled her on her back when she came to awareness. Sansa’s long legs parted for him and his hard cock pressed against her covered entrance. The white fabric was dark with her arousal. He pressed forward and watched Sansa’s eyes widen as his length threatened its invasion. “You want it, don’t you?” He goaded. Sansa shook her head in denial but the desire in her eyes betrayed her. Despite having her in his bed dozens of times, Jon had never taken her maidenhead. _It would be so easy. I doubt she’d even fight me once I got inside her._ Many times, he wanted nothing more to bury to the hilt inside his pretty cousin. To watch her belly, grow round from his seed. Jon was not suicidal though. Not even the Wall would protect him from his uncle’s wrath.

He placed his hands on either side of her head and his hair formed a silver curtain that shielded them from the world. The blue eyes staring up at him made him wonder. The stories of how his father had dishonored Lyanna had defined Jon’s life. Everyone looked at him and wondered if he would grow to be the same monster as his father and grandfather. Bastards were generally considered ill-gotten but a bastard born by the rape of a beloved northern daughter… even Robb had been lost to him once they were old enough to understand the truth. _Sansa came to me so willingly. Did my mother do the same? Did she spread her legs for Rhaegar and inadvertently get her father and brother murdered?_ The thought was amusing enough that he chuckled.

“What is on your mind?” Sansa asked him. Her voice was soft and a hand rose to trace his jawline. Jon nuzzled her soft palm and kissed her fingers.

“My mother.” Jon answered. His honesty was surprising. Sarcasm and barbed remarks were his armor. Not with Sansa though. He found himself sharing more with her now than he ever anticipated. He wondered what he would do when she went south to become the future queen and he to rot at the wall, the small possibility of anyone supporting his claim to the throne erased once he took his vows.

He hadn’t known that he was clenching the sheets until Sansa was stroking the sheets and whispering “Its okay.” Her long legs wrapped around his narrow hips and pulled him closer. This time she was the one claiming his lips.

Jon rolled his hips, delighting in Sansa’s gasps as his cock head thrummed her clit through the fabric. He both cursed and thanked the barrier that lay between them. Her wetness soaked through the thin fabric and the accompanying heat that poured from her was tantalizing. “I want to taste you.” He growled into her ear.

Sansa shivered and then nodded her head. He kissed her chin and then along her neck. Her back arched as pinched her nipples. Her belly fluttered as he made his way south. Unable to resist, Jon tongued her bellybutton. That drew a giggle. Sansa’s hips lifted and then he was dragging down her small clothes. Sansa’s toes wiggled as he kissed her right foot and then her left.

Her slim thighs spread for his gaze. The hair above her flower was brighter than her auburn locks. The neatly trimmed curls were soft against his nose and he took a deep breath of her scent. Sansa squirmed and she propped herself onto his pillows to watch him. Jon smiled. “Take notice Lady Stark, you may be queen one day but your princely husband will never bring you as much pleasure as your bastard cousin.”

Jon made good on his boast. Sansa squirmed under the lash of his tongue and he had to grip the underside of her thighs to keep her still and open for him. Her lips spread for his tongue and he feasted on her juices. A long stroke of his tongue to her clit drew too loud of a moan. “Bite the pillow or I’ll stop.” He ordered. Only once Sansa followed his command did he continue.

She came undone several times under his ministrations. Jon had studied her like a wolf would its prey. He knew when to back off between her peaks and when to keep going even when she pleaded with him to stop. The swipe of his tongue against her rosebud had Sansa arching and when he buried a wet finger into her forbidden hole, his cousin shook and her juices gushed on his face.

Sansa eagerly accepted his kiss, even with him covered in her essence and his cock throbbed almost painfully when she sucked his fingers clean.

Hungrier for her than he had ever been, the thought of another man having her maidenhead was maddening. His cock nudged her clit, a twist of his hips and half of his head was past her entrance before her hands flew to his chest to stop his progress.

“Jon!” Her blue eyes were wide and her auburn hair disheveled. The flush that crawled up her neck and stained her chest made her even more beautiful.

Jon stared at his cousins. A clash of dark indigo and deep blue. “Tell me to stop.”

Sansa bit her lip. “Please.”

He did not know what she wanted. He inched inside further. Sansa was impossible tight, so much so that he needed to squeeze the muscles behind his sack to keep from spilling. But she was so wet that her juices were practically gushing around his cock, aiding his glide. He was halfway inside her before she voiced those dreaded words.

“Stop Jon.”

He stilled. His jaw clenched. Sansa’s nude form was the picture of loveliness and he wanted nothing more than to claim her. It would be so easy. She hadn’t fought for anything a day in her life, and she could hardly fight him now. Discovery would condemn him, likely to death but to be found abed with her bastard cousin... Sansa’s dream of wedding a prince and being queen would die in an instant. He’d be gentle too, she cum on his cock just as she did his tongue. _Dragons take what they want._ He had their look if not their name. _Is this what my mother did? Tease my father until he grew mad enough to take her?_

His cousin’s cunt clenched around him as if to goad him into completing the deed. Jon pulled away instead. _I am not Rhaegar Targaryen._ He rolled away from the bed.

“Wait Jon.” Sansa called to him.

He strode to the window instead. “Go before someone learns that you are away from your bed.” Summer snow fell from the sky but the cold air that drifted in from his window felt welcoming instead of uncomfortable. His ears listened intently as Sansa dressed herself. Her slippers scuffed against the stone floor and then his door opened and closed. Alone, his shoulders slumped.

“You are a fool Jon Snow.” Sansa was now practically a princess. As fun as she found their tryst, she was too smart to risk her position by fully giving herself to a bastard.

Jon’s hands clenched. Moments later he was dressed and leaving his room. Winterfell was quiet at this hour and his journey was silent and unimpeded. A white shadow with red eyes made its way to his side. “Ghost.” Jon stopped and petted his direwolf.

Ghost seemed larger every day. Once the runt of the litter, the albino wolf was now larger than any of its brethren. Oddly intelligent red eyes stared at him and a rough tongue licked the snow from his cheeks. Jon laughed. At least he would not be alone at the wall.

The heavy ironwood door of the crypts protested loudly as it opened and Jon grit his teeth. Fortunately for him, Winterfell’s guards rarely lingered around the First Keep and the lichyard. If there was any place in Winterfell that Jon was most unwelcome it was the crypts. He was a Snow not a Stark.

The torchlight did little to stave off the darkness and the winding stair descended into a pit of impenetrable blackness. Ghost growled at something unseen in those dark depths and briefly Jon considered abandoning his quest. He shook his head. “Are you ten years old again?” He asked himself.

“Come Ghost.” Jon said and then gathering his courage, man and wolf descended into the dark.

Long faces and dead eyes stared at him. The stone edifices of the Old Lords of Winterfell could never be called warm but their eyes seemed to say _You don’t belong here! You are no Stark._ That is what they whispered in his dreams. Artos the Implacable, Brandon the Bad, Cregan Stark and his sons… none seemed pleased that he had ventured in their mists. Ghost growled at the wolves that sat at their feet.

It was easy to find his mother. She was the only woman amidst these lords and their wolves. Beside her sat her father and brother and behind the crypts were empty, waiting for Jon’s cousins’ times to come. He likely would be buried in a ditch and forgotten.

His gloved hands touched her face. Even in death she was pretty. Her resemblance to Arya was almost frightening. _I look nothing like her._ He wondered how his life would be if he had inherited more from her. _I’d still be a bastard._

Blue roses withered at her feet. “Why?” He asked her. She gave no answer. That was both frustrating and a relief, for if she did then it meant he had inherited the Targaryen madness as well. His mother was nothing more than bones but that was more than could be said of his father. Targaryens burned their dead and he doubted Robert Baratheon allowed Rhaegar’s ashes to join his ancestors’ on Dragonstone.

“Did he force you? Or did you give yourself to him willingly?” If his mother was so similar to Arya then he could hardly imagine her a simple damsel in distress. Even at eleven Arya was fierce. Woe to the man who tried to force his cousin into anything she did not want.

The stone remained impassive. Jon sat there until his torch threatened to die. “I hate you.” He told her. To his shame that was only a half truth. He hated her for dying when dying when he needed her. Surely a woman who begged for her son’s life would love him. Even if he was born of rape. Tears fell from his eyes. Perhaps it was best he did not know the answer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Never written this pairing but I have never seen a Targaryen looking Jon Snow paired with Sansa nor raised in Winterfell. Thought I'd give it a shot.
> 
> Your thoughts are appreciated.
> 
> If there is interest, I can post a chapter from Sansa's POV.


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